The Wickerville Ghost
The light rain falls like an invisible mist in the bitter cold of night. A great mob gathers around a half-crippled dwarf as he unrolls a waxed map against a wall with his one good hand. Their torches complain and flicker against the weather, but with the anxious crush of bodies, the heat could be a bonfire.
The dwarf barks, “Alright, Alright, give me a space, then,”
He runs his hand across the map, “Denny, take yer boys across the Blank. Went and Pross, yours is Westberry to Apple. Vane, take a couple an’ watch the walls n’ gate. Bally, kit yer friends from me basement. An’ if ya see it, no heroes. Ya come yellin’,”
The mob nervously starts to break away to their assignments. One lingers behind, “Hey Rafto, I heard that the old elf is out in the street again,”
“You leave her be, she has people to watch her,”
“But she’s saying things like…”
“I don’t Fookin’ care, do I? Get to the fookin’ Blank and keep yer eyes on the dark,”
The lingerer hangs his head and jogs off through the city.
The dwarf screams off after him, “And if you see that fookin’ priest, ya shut yer gob!”
Some kind of ghost has been haunting the alleys of Wickerville. Two children have already gone missing. The people are nearing a terrified panic. Can the creature be stopped before fear sparks a riot and more lives are lost?